Big Toothy Grin February 28, 2008

What follows are the results of my Operation Smile experiment (see yesterday’s blog for details):

7:00AM:  Operation Smile is underway.  I regret it already.  I have a stomachache and my son tells me he just threw up.  It just feels wrong to be smiling.  I’m in a bad mood and not into this “fun little exercise”.  I slap on a happy grin as my son is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind (a look I am quite familiar with).  The morning news is on reporting a bank robbery, a murder and bad weather.  Big Toothy Grin……ugh.

7:45AM:  I meet my girlfriend for a cup of coffee and tell her about Operation Smile.  She immediately joins the experiment.  We sipped and smiled while engaging in some moaning and groaning.  It was kind of funny.  Complaining while smiling feels a lot different.  The smile almost cancels out the complaint.  I think we looked suspicious with this silly behavior, but I did seem to notice so many more people smiling.  Were they part of the experiment or just responding to our grins?  By the way, though the smiling started out as a fake physical gesture, it was only a matter of seconds before it was genuine. It became real quite quickly.

11:15AM: I am in Barnes and Noble working on my computer when I realize I am frowning.  So I put a smile on my face.  I think people are trying to read what I am writing so they can figure out what I am smiling about.  I feel very conspicuous (maybe it’s the new haircut…..).  People pass and I smile.  Most smile back.  One or two look around to see what they are missing. 

1:00PM: I am in the nurse’s office at my son’s school to pick him up. Yes, I made him go to school even though he threw up.  I thought he was faking  it.  Sorry.  So much for the Supermom cape… The nurse is telling me about his other symptoms and I am nodding and smiling.  I am sure she thinks I am an insensitive (but happy) clod.

3:00PM:  Smiling in the absence of other human beings makes me feel retarded.  It does, however, make me start to laugh.  This can’t be bad, right?

4:45PM:  I am upset with my son and deliver a reprimand with a smile.  He doesn’t argue and suddenly I’m not mad anymore.  Hmm….that was too easy.

7:00PM:  I place my order with a waitress and I remember to smile.  She tells me I have pretty eyes and that the wine is on the house.   With that I declare Operation Smile a complete success (!) and vow to do my best to smile more often.

Tell Your Face About It February 27, 2008

I’m saying it out loud (well… I’m declaring it in writing).  Tomorrow (Thursday) I am trying a little experiment.  I am going to try to smile as much as I can in one day.  Being happy has been something I am obviously resisting, so I am going to put Operation Smile into effect for 24 hours. 

Whenever I think of it, I am going to put a smile on my face.  I am sure I will feel ridiculous, but I wonder if you actually can train yourself to be happier.  Maybe I just need practice getting used to it again.   I will remind myself that smiling may not only be helpful to me, but that others on the receiving end may benefit as well.  It will be my own little form of philanthropy for one day.  I will take note of the impact this experiment has on my psyche and the world around me, and will report back to all of you in my next blog. 

I love being around happy people.  I have a friend who I will call sometimes when I need a dose of “feel good”.  All I have to do is be in his presence and I am lifted to a happier, more peaceful place.  I don’t know exactly what it is that he possesses (though I know he is always smiling).  I do know that I always wanted to have that effect on others.  Maybe this experiment will point me back in the right direction. 

I would encourage anyone reading this to join me in this exercise.  I would love to hear if smiling changed anything for you. 

When I was young and moody my parents would often ask me what was wrong.  When I insisted nothing was wrong, my mom would suggest, “….then tell your face about it…”  Right now  there is nothing really wrong.  So tomorrow, I am going to tell my face about it.

Driving Ms. Crazy February 26, 2008

I looked to my left and saw the little boy who used to ride his Fisher Price Fire Truck into my kitchen cabinets.  Now he was driving us home.  (I will warn you at this point that I am hormonal and I am going to wax sentimental about how quickly time flies and how it takes our babies with it.)  The face I used to play “nosey-nosey” with is whiskered and more mature, but I still see my baby. 

In this moment I realize that I am not ready for him to be grown.  I had plans that once I got myself “together” I would be a great mom.  A terrific role model.  Unfortunately I couldn’t find his PAUSE button.  His life didn’t stop while I attempted to get mine together.   I didn’t get to play the “role” I’d hoped to model for him.   The one he deserved. 

I say this not to berate myself (for there isn’t a child anywhere who is loved more) but to remind myself that the game isn’t over yet.  Though he is 16, he is still growing and learning, as I the 45 year old am as well.   Every day I have another chance to make an impression…. I have a new opportunity to be a model for him (and who said I wasn’t model material?).  On the days when I can’t live my “best life” for myself, I need to remember that he is watching. 

If I don’t show him that happiness is out there (rather,  ”in here”) and that we all deserve it, who will?  If I don’t believe in me, how will he believe in himself?   If I don’t fight for me, I’ve only taught him that he isn’t worth fighting for either.  So, it’s time to pull my Supermom cape out of the closet and snap out of it……I hope the tights still fit.

Suck It In February 25, 2008

I went clothes shopping yesterday.  This is an activity I generally avoid at all costs, but with a presentation to do in 9 days and a wardrobe full of sweat pants, pajamas, and business wear that is 10 years and 70 pounds outdated, I had no choice.  A friend volunteered to accompany me to offer moral support and compliments when the going got rough. 

We started in fairly good humor.  It was a bit like visiting a foreign country for me.  So this is what fashionable people wear……..Lots of beautiful fabrics and bright colors for the spring.  We gained excitement as we scurried from rack to rack “oooing” and “aaaahing” over the latest in couture.  I selected a few things that seemed perfect and then realized upon closer inspection that we must have mistakenly crossed into the children’s section, as everything looked as though it was straight from the runways of Munchkin Land.  The saleslady gently suggested we try “Women’s Wear”.

“Women’s Wear” was no man’s land (no women either).  Can you say depressing?  The department was in the far back corner of the store and consisted of a handful of racks from which Omar’s Collectibles hung.  So many options…..Big and Brown, Big and Beige, Big and Black, or my personal favorite Big and Ugly.  Where were the adorable mix and match outfits we saw in the pretty part of the store?  I must not be the only overweight person that doesn’t want to look like a grandmother in mourning, am I?  

There was, however, an upside to the shopping trip yesterday.  I became aware of entire line of undergarments meant to reform any and all out-of-control parts of the female body.  There was what I call the Body Cast, a spandex unitard for those seeking “total coverage”.  It comes complete with removable straps and a staff of 3 necessary for application.  Or for that flatter stomach there was the “gut-buster”.   I suppose breathing freely has been overrated…..  You can find a binding garment that supports you from your neck to your toes, your chest to your knees, just your bust, your total torso, or your legs alone.  Who knew?

Several hundred dollars later I have an outfit, and I can honestly say that although my  new “body cast” has given me the neck of a goiter patient and the ankles of an elephant, I do think my waist is a bit trimmer…..

turtle sandwich February 22, 2008

I am a dreamer.  Not the kind whose dreams are not of the waking world (like of being a Broadway star or opening the first drive-through psychotherapy office), but the kind of dreamer who dreams in her sleep.  I definitely think it’s genetic, as my mother too has always had the wackiest, wildest dreams and has been able to recall them with the finest detail. 

I have studied my dreams and am sure (though there are those who think I’m certifiable) that it is through my dreams that I process my “stuff”.  I have gone through periods of time where I almost couldn’t wait to see what was playing in any particular evening’s subconscious show.  I believe I can tell the difference between the I-shouldn’t-have-had-that-burrito-at midnight kind of dream and one that carries important information.   I look for answers to my questions in my dreams…..and often I get them.

Except for last night.  I dreamt I had a turtle sandwich.  Yep, a real live little turtle between 2 pieces of Wonder Bread.  I wonder why it was Wonder Bread?  Of course, I ran to look up the symbolism of the turtle.  I discovered the following:  “Turtles have amazing survival skills and strategies….(yeah…I think I have good strategies….)  “Turtles carry their homes on their backs.  Those to whom the turtle shows itself should be careful not to acquire more possessions than they can carry on their backs.”  (oh, no…does this mean I’m going to lose my house?  My car?  Maybe I should have a tag sale….)  “When the turtle gets flipped on it’s back (goes through a divorce and major home and career change) it rights itself by using the strength of its neck…” (my hump…..that explains the hump!  All that straining from trying to “right” myself must have strained my neck muscles….) “when a turtle comes into your life, you should go inside your shell and come out when your ideas are ready to be expressed…”  (OK, I just need to go into my shell and then I’ll be able to write this presentation…..)

The second source I checked had this to say:  “to see a turtle in your dreams indicates that you are sheltering yourself from the realities of life….”  (Gulp….duh…)

Nowhere did it say what it means to EAT the turtle……..

Bringing “The Bomber” Back February 21, 2008

I have heard that I was a tough to deal with as a teenager. In my own defense I will say that I was a really good kid for the most part.  My parents were pretty lucky (more accurately they did a good job) having three kids, each model students and athletes (well at least my brothers were) who never got into any trouble.  (I waited until I was out of college to turn their hair gray.)  I was, however, a bit mouthy.

My family nicknamed me “The Bomber” when I was in high school.  Deadly to go into (verbal) battle with.  “She never lost a fight in her life,” they would say.  They were certain that a career in courtroom litigation was in the cards for me.  I never shut up.  I had to have the last word and I had to set everyone straight on what was fair and what was unjust in the world.  There are those who say I still never shut up and that I ramble on ad naseum, but there is a difference.  Now I have a hard time speaking up on my own behalf.

What happened to that big-mouth girl who wasn’t afraid of anything, the one who took crap from no one?  How did I become the person who apologizes for having my foot underneath your big heavy boot?   The one eating the entree she didn’t order……I was rear-ended in an auto accident some time ago.  After filling out the police report and getting back on my whiplashed way, my son asked me, “how come you kept apologizing to that guy?  We were the ones stopped at the red light?”  Yeah……how come?

What kind of “Bomber” doesn’t tell the hairdresser that the rinse water is scalding?  One who lost her belief in her worth.  One who forgot that she matters….. Well, look out world!  I’m bringing “The Bomber” back!  I will never again eat a meal I didn’t order!  I will not apologize for having a fever or for falling down when you trip me!  I’m not looking to pick any fights…. I just think we all need to remember that we matter.

I hope I didn’t ramble on too much.  Sorry if I did.

Dueling Keyboards February 20, 2008

Twice a week I meet with my friend for a “work session”.  I would have called him a colleague, but that would imply we are both in the same field.  He is in the field that I am looking at through the window.  My friend is a professional speaker who makes his living doing the very thing I hope to do.  He has been  President of the National Speakers Association-New England, and has been a strong supporter in my quest for a paycheck. 

We get together to work each on our respective projects, serving as sounding boards for ideas, words, etc.  (Personally, I think he mainly wants to make sure I am out of bed and dressed at least 2 days a week….)  By the way, I am great with the ideas for other people.  If anyone out there is looking for an idea person, look no further.  I simply have trouble putting any ideas into play for MYSELF. 

It has been a valuable arrangement for me.  It does, however, poke at my demons (and what doesn’t?)  Right this minute I am sitting directly across the counter from my friend, listening to his frantic typing.  He seems to be on a roll.  He is laughing and typing, seemingly pleased with his work.  The more he types, the dumber I feel.  What’s up with that?  Here comes the gremlin…..”wow….I can’t come up with ideas like that……it’s so easy for him……this is a dumb blog…..he writes a blog in 5 minutes and it takes me forever…..”

Comparing myself to others is one of my most harmful qualities (I really don’t think I’m the only one, am I?)  It doesn’t matter that I have written this blog consistently (except for the day the “FCC” interfered), a feat that for me is unheard of.  All I seem to notice is how much easier it seems for someone else to write.  (For all I know, he is twisted up in knots on the inside right now…………not…..)  I spend so much time looking outside myself to see if I am measuring up, and since I am the one who is doing the measuring, I never seem to. 

I suppose I could go through life with ear plugs and blinders, but somehow I think that might negatively impact the quality of my life.  So I need to see this differently.  I need to see his success and ease as what is possible for me down the road.  After all,  he has put a ton of work, effort and time into his profession.  For me to be intimidated would be like an infant feeling ashamed for not being able to skateboard like her older brother. 

So even though in the past 2 1/2 hours I have only written this 500 word blog and he has written an entire keynote presentation (to be delivered this evening!), I will not feel ashamed or insecure.  I will instead be proud of who I am and where I am at right now.   Hey, you wanna see me crawl?

When You Can’t go OM February 19, 2008

Now I know how Buddha got his belly…..from the stress of living peacefully, probably.  This “living in balance” stuff is a pain in the arse.   I know that to live my “best life” I am probably going to have to calm down just a tad (a ton), for I am living proof that hysteria and balance cannot coexist.  I have been trying to find my center, but the search parties haven’t much hope.

According to many sources, meditation seems to be the way to a more centered, peaceful existence.  I try to follow my breath but my wheezing and hyperventilating throws the rhythm off.  I can’t cross my legs without one of them going numb (that’s a lie….I just can’t cross my legs), and I fall asleep in a seated (chair) meditation.  I’ve tried walking meditation, but my asthma kicks in and the “emptiness that is all that is” in my head just keeps asking “how much longer before we’re peaceful, my feet hurt?”  Being calm makes me crazy.  What about yoga, you ask?  I love to see people doing yoga.  I like their cute little pants and sleeveless tops (two of the reasons you don’t see me doing yoga…..)  I tried it once.  I got so upset I thought I was going to have a heart attack.  Something about realizing that your body no longer does ANYTHING you thought it could do or that it used to do does not make me feel peaceful.  It makes me feel like a downward facing dog.  (I did enjoy the corpse pose, I must admit…..) 

So naturally, the “unbalanced” part of me (the part that has nothing left to wear) reaches for Luigi’s Italian Cookies and the remote, and it’s off to Nirvana……(always stopping at the gift shop for my souvenir heartburn).  What’s a gal to do when the only peace she finds is at the bottom of a Chunky Monkey container?  I am willing to admit that the “peace” is only momentary (depending on how many Pringles are left in the can) and that the insanity resumes just as the digestive mayhem ensues.  But I swear, if you scrape your spoon across an Italian Ice cup in even and rhythmic strokes, I can almost guarantee reaching an altered state. 

OK, I call it peace, you call it elevated glucose levels……

I know I have to figure out a better way to quiet the beast (other than suffocating it) before some smart aleck kid asks to rub my belly and make a wish.

The Ladder February 18, 2008

As I sit in front of my keyboard taking inventory of what story I could share with you this morning, I realize the shelves are empty.  I got nuthin’.  

I glance around the room to see if anything jumps out at me as possible blog fodder.  Jerry Seinfeld turned everyday nonsense into fame and fortune…I ought to at least be able to turn it into 300 words……OK…what do I see?   Mostly the mess I said I was going to clean up so that I could become more successful and clearheaded.  In fairness, I no longer have a pile of bath towels in my office, and I did empty the trash can, though the paper piles are growing in all four corners of the room.  There are a couple of boxes of bills I could talk about, but I’m trying to stay positive myself, and that just might put a damper on my early Monday morning mood……

Oh…….The ladder.  

When I was remaking one of the bedrooms in my home into my office, I found a beautiful bamboo ladder that I purchased to place as a decorative accent.  When I bought it I told myself it was representative of the climb I would be making…….the new heights I would be reaching.  (It seemed really profound at the time….)  I carefully placed this ladder in my view to remind myself of my mission, and wrapped a lovely silk cloth around the upper rungs (in case I got cold on the climb?  I don’t know why….I thought it looked nice…..).

And there it sits.  Leaning against the closet door.  For the very first time I realized something.  This ladder consists of two vertical poles connected by 5 horizontal rungs.  That’s it.  It doesn’t open up like a regular ladder to be self-supporting;  it must lean against something in order to function.  It must be supported by something strong (especially if I’m on it!).

I realized that is how I have been able to climb at all.  Though I may still be on the lower rungs, it has been the strength of many others that holds the ladder steady as I reach.  I have always been the stubborn sort.  I hate asking for help ( I hate needing it even more.)  But it occurs to me that we don’t get anywhere alone.  If we’re really lucky, sometimes we’re the person on the ladder and sometimes we’re the wall.

They Call Me Ms. Stake February 15, 2008

I locked my keys in my car last night.  Of course the car was running at the time and my Ipod was blasting through the speakers.  I couldn’t believe it.  I am always so careful not to do that.  I was in a hurry, my mind was somewhere else, and I made a mistake.  I didn’t mean to do it.  I wasn’t trying to embarrass my son, stand up my friend, or inconvenience the state police.  It was simply a mistake. 

Well, that simple mistake is costing me my beauty sleep.  I just now got myself out of bed at 1:00am to write this because I was lying there still beating myself up about it.  Enough already.  This wasn’t Chernobyl.  Caca happens. I personally have spent years beating myself up over mistakes I have made.  Admittedly, some have been whoppers that hurt other people, but most weren’t all that big a deal, and yet I have a very hard time forgiving myself for any of them, big or small.  I have wasted so much energy replaying the stupid things I’ve said (written) or done.  I replay the scenes in my head endlessly, chastising myself over things that live in the past and cannot be undone.

I had a wise counselor tell me once, “The sooner you accept that you are good, bad, perfect and ugly (of course she wasn’t referring to my physicality…….at least I hope she wasn’t…..), the happier you will be.”  Why is it so hard to accept that we are flawed and sometimes make mistakes? 

Nobody’s perfect…..isn’t that how it goes?  If that’s the case, I’m setting an impossibly high bar for myself if I think that rule doesn’t include me.  Of course I would never measure up!  How could I?  How could anyone?

I wonder what would happen if I went to bed each night ruminating about all the things I did right that day.  How bizarre!  I can hear it now, “……..Wow, I can’t believe I wrote another blog entry today when I wasn’t feeling inspired to do so….that was great, wasn’t it?…………..what about that stain I removed?……HIGH FIVE TO ME!…….that was awesome…..oh…..and how about the cantaloupe?…..I never thought I’d pick that over the bag of caramel corn……I am something else, eh?…And who is the best toilet paper replacer ever?…Me! That’s who!….Some people don’t even bother……

I’m smiling while I write this….mostly because it sounds ridiculous……

but I do wonder if I would sleep better……….